


safe place to land

by jaeminz



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bad Flirting, Christmas, Christmas Presents, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Fraternities & Sororities, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28309170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaeminz/pseuds/jaeminz
Summary: Q is quite possibly the strangest person Bond's ever met. He's brilliant, reckless, and somehow oblivious to the fact that Bond has been trying (and failing) to ask him out for months.Or: a college au where Bond hasn't quite mastered his flirting skills yet, Q is always busy, and they smile at each other constantly.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Comments: 12
Kudos: 103





	safe place to land

**Author's Note:**

> it was so strange to write in lapslock hhhhhh (and also just strange to be writing fic again. man it's been a WHILE)  
> sorry for awkward characterization! i tried to play around w their personalities in light of their age (at least compared to movie canon) but i may have pushed it a bit :'-0  
> i have no idea what universities or winter holidays are like in london so forgive me for how americanized this is
> 
> anyways!! this is for my dearest friend hee, i love u endlessly and hope this silly little thing expresses a token of my adoration. u r my angel!! merry christmas my dear  
> also - i made a [00q playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/25Wvlzm6LewB9eBpJ1nnNS?si=fjJLo1L-QvGBmS_m8QCkLQ) ;-D it's a bit of a hodge podge of songs (some are only really relevant to their rship within this fic, but i thought others just suited them well in general) but regardless-- i hope u enjoy it as well <3
> 
> (title is from ben platt's "honest man," which is, of course, included in the playlist)

Bond is used to meeting unusual people.

Back during his university orientation, he had started chatting up a few other freshmen only to learn that one was preparing to be put on trial for murder and another had a world record for number of hot dogs eaten in one minute. It had been a rather telling start to his university experience.

When he joined a frat house out of curiosity - the hazing wasn’t nearly as bad as he expected, but the weekly parties were definitely worse - each weekend was filled with ridiculous stories and odd encounters. By the time he reaches his final year of university, it’s a rarity to meet anyone who isn’t strange.

Still, nothing comes close to meeting Q.

It’s a Friday night in late autumn and Bond finds himself sitting on the front porch of the frat house and contemplating if it’s worth it to get smashed when he knows he’s got an exam the next afternoon, and then some guy is stumbling out of the house and falling into Bond’s arms.

“Oh.” Bond looks down and is pleasantly surprised to see the stranger grinning back at him. Not a completely obnoxious drunkard, then. It’s right after that he notices the stranger’s bloody nose and wild eyes and thinks, _okay, every meet-cute has their flaws_.

“You’re quite strong, right?” The stranger asks without preamble. They haven’t moved from where they fell against Bond, but they do glance over their shoulder once or twice. Bond distantly wonders if the stranger even realizes that they’re nearly sitting in Bond’s lap. “Like, you could definitely hold me back. Physically.”

“Hold you back from what?” Bond asks, mostly because it’s the only coherent question he can come up with other than _What the fuck is going on?_

“I have to pretend to fight someone,” the stranger waves their hand in a complicated, vague gesture, “or rather, I’m supposed to fight someone but I’d really rather not. So I need you to hold me back so I just freak him out a little and then carry on with my night.”

It takes about two seconds for Bond to really, fully take in the strangeness of this, two more seconds to hesitantly reach forward to wipe away some of the blood on the stranger’s face, and one final second for him to decide _fuck it._

“What’s the guy look like?” He finally says. The stranger, who had begun to lean into Bond’s hand, startles.

“Oh, you’ll help? Wonderful.” They stand abruptly and, despite clearly being wobbly on their own, they extend a hand out for Bond. “He’s got, like, a rat’s nest on his head and really weasely eyes. Quite awful looking, really, so I’m sure you’ll know as soon as you see him.”

Bond takes their hand - strong, determined, _warm_ \- and grins, knocking their shoulders together.

“Are you avoiding this fight because you’ve already been in one tonight?” He asks, using the edge of his sleeve to wipe at the new trail of blood from the stranger’s nose. He realizes a moment too late that it’s a bit odd to be delicately tending to the wounds of someone he’s only just met, but the stranger is leaning into his hand again and sighing.

 _This is so fucking weird,_ Bond thinks, but it’s also nice, so he lets his hand move to cradle the stranger’s cheek. He’s lucky that they seem too drunk to really acknowledge it.

“Unfortunately, they’re unrelated.” The stranger turns to face the door of the house, leaning against Bond’s side as they move. Bond’s hand doesn’t fall away. “I’m a bit of a prick when I get drunk, so this is much in the norm for me.” There’s a pause before they look at Bond; despite the haziness in the stranger’s expression and the way they sway slightly, there’s an undeniable clarity in their eyes. “I’m surprised I haven’t managed to piss you off yet, anyhow. What’s your name?”

“Bond.” He says, and the stranger pulls Bond’s hand away from their face to shake it properly.

“I’m Q.” They open their mouth to say something else, but abruptly clamps it shut as their face turns into a grimace. Someone slams the front door shut and Bond watches as another stranger - rather weasel looking indeed - begins to march towards Q.

Q looks at Bond, nodding slightly, and that’s all the warning he gets before Q starts to lunge forward. There’s a terrifying split second where Bond loses his grip and Q nearly bursts forward, but then he manages to grab a fistful of Q’s sweater and pull them back in. Q is swearing rather colorfully, and although Bond isn’t sure what exactly a “nitwit fuck basket” means, he knows an insult when he hears one.

He spares a glance towards the weasel stranger who seems significantly less confident than they did when they first started heading over.

“I’d make a run for it if I were you.” Bond calls out, jerking his head to the side to avoid the elbow that Q throws at him. The other stranger hesitates for a moment, jittery, before sprinting off down the street.

As soon as they’re out of sight, Q relaxes instantly, grinning while they pat Bond on the shoulder.

“Thanks for that.” Q says. They’re much steadier on their feet than they were a few minutes ago, but now Bond can feel the barely-there thrumming in Q’s unclenched fists and set shoulders.

“Happy to be of service.” He says honestly. “Do I get the pleasure of knowing how you pissed that fellow off?”

“Maybe some other night.” Q brushes their sweater down, smoothing down the wrinkles formed by Bond’s grip. “Gotta keep up the suspense somehow.”

“Do you plan on coming back around here, then?” Bond’s too intrigued to pretend he’s not looking forward to it. He’s spent the better part of the month dodging awkward freshmen, so it’d be a nice change of pace to talk to someone so interesting. “I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for you.”

“I don’t think I’ll be around the area too often, but perhaps we’ll run into each other somewhere else.”

“We could grab a cuppa somewhere.” Bond offers, and Q snorts.

“Bond, it’s far too late in the evening for that.”

Bond doesn’t extend the offer to a later date or push the subject further; Q’s voice leaves no room for argument, so he stays silent and smiles when Q squeezes his arm.

As he watches Q walk away under the street lights, Bond lets himself sit back on the porch, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets until his nose starts to get numb. He thinks about Q’s bloody nose and brilliant smile and makes his way inside for a few drinks.

-

Curiosity gets the better of him, so Bond spends the next week or so asking around about Q. The peculiarity of the name makes information easier to find, and Bond quickly learns that Q is a sophomore but nearly three years younger, a mechanical engineering major, and almost as witty as he is smart. Of course, people describe the wittiness more so as Q being a prick, but Bond can read between the lines.

-

They don’t see each other again until nearly a month later, when midterms are slowly approaching.

Bond has spent the past week alternating between pulling all-nighters in the library and the gym to study and vent respectively. Despite the fact that Bond spends half of his waking hours between aisles of books and old computers, he doesn’t bump into Q until his boredom brings him to the library basement.

He doesn’t visit the area often, since the space is reserved for the larger equipment and printers, but he knows a few of the students that run the help desk and figures that bothering them would be a good use of time.

There’s no one there when he approaches the desk, so he settles on leaning against it and tapping the little bell on the counter. Almost immediately, someone jumps up from underneath the desk and, lo and behold, it’s Q.

There’s a yellow-ish bruise by the corner of his jaw as if he’d been punched, but otherwise he looks perfectly cozy in a knit sweater. His glasses are slightly crooked and it’s so stupidly endearing that Bond’s knuckles go white around the counter.

“Oh, fuck.” Q jumps. For some reason, it startles Bond enough that he’s able to relax his grip on the desk.

“Hello, Q. It’s lovely seeing you.” Bond says, meaning it more than he means to. “I had no idea you worked here.”

“I’m normally in the labs, but they needed someone to man the desk today. Did you need help with something?”

“I just popped by to bother Madeleine, but this is even better. How’ve you been?”

It’s a bit too personal for someone he met once, but Q only eyes him warily for a moment before sighing.

“Alright.” It’s barely an opening for a conversation, but it’s not a complete shutdown.

“What happened with, um,” Bond reaches to touch the bruise on Q’s jaw before remembering himself and just gesturing helplessly, “did you get in another fight?”

“It wasn’t much of a fight.” Q admits. There’s a slight grin tugging at the corner of his lips and Bond wants to press his thumb into it. It’s such an abrupt intrusive thought that he nearly physically recoils as he thinks, _damn, that’s awfully gay._ Thankfully, Q seems oblivious as he prattles on. “Like, I threw a few awful punches that probably felt like floppy discs instead of fists, but that was to be expected.”

“I could show you how to throw a proper punch.” Bond blurts out. He sounds a bit too eager even to his own ears, so he forces himself to look casual as he leans against the counter. “There’s some rather nice equipment at the gym if you’ve ever got the time.” His heart feels too big for his chest, pounding in his ears as if this is the first time he’s ever asked anyone out.

“Maybe I’ll check it out after midterms are over.” Q acquiesces, but the corner of his mouth is twitching up and at least he doesn’t seem offended by Bond’s offer. It’s hard to tell if it’s a soft rejection or just a delay, so Bond settles on nodding and trying not to push too far.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to work. Until next time, Q.” Bond lifts a hand to wave, pleased when Q gives a warm wave back.

-

Bond starts looking for Q more.

He mostly just glances around between classes, around the gym, and even in the library basement, but Q is absurdly hard to find. Even when Bond goes out of his way to look for him, he doesn’t get any further than catching a glimpse of curly dark hair outside an on-campus coffee shop before the sight slips away.

After another week of Bond fruitlessly wandering around campus, he comes to the conclusion that Q must be avoiding him.

He tries not to take it personally - they were hardly friends, after all, and there was always the chance that Bond’s little advances had made Q uncomfortable - but it still settles under his skin. He doesn’t mope about it, though it’s a close thing, instead refocusing on all of the schoolwork he’d neglected when he was coming up with excuses to swing by the library basement every few hours.

-

Of course, that means that Bond feels all the more surprised when he sees Q not even a week later.

He’s back at the frat house crouching on the front porch, enjoying the cold quiet of the evening while he nurses a cheap bottle of vodka. It keeps him warm, so he doesn’t complain about the quality despite the fact that it tastes shittier the drunker he gets.

“Hey, Bond.” A voice greets, and even before Bond manages to lift his head to look, he knows - hopes? - that it’s Q. The gratification at seeing Q smiling down at him shouldn’t make Bond’s heart lurch into his throat, but it does. He’s wearing a thick wool coat and what looks to be three layers of sweaters, and Bond has never felt more endeared in his life. “Nice seeing you.”

“Likewise.” He says. His mind is running a mile a minute, but it’s sluggish from the vodka. He prays desperately that he doesn’t sound as drunk as he feels. “What brings you around?”

Q rocks back on the balls of his feet, clearly debating a response, before he sighs and sits down next to Bond. When he speaks, his words come out in warm puffs of breath. It’s very difficult for Bond to keep his eyes away.

“I got off work and Madeleine mentioned you stopped by the desk a couple times asking if I was in.” He says finally. Bond blanches, partly because of _course_ Madeleine said something, but also because he’s certain that Q has come all this way just to firmly turn him down. Bond’s almost about to interject with an apology and promise to keep away, but he gets distracted by the cold flush to Q’s ears and his mouth goes dry. “I don’t really know where to find you other than here, so I thought I’d stop by to say hello.” He laughs a bit breathlessly and Bond leans in, helpless to its gravity. “Sorry if this is odd. I felt bad that you kept asking for me and that I was never there.”

Bond means to say something like _No worries_ or even _I only asked for you once or twice, it wasn’t a big deal,_ but instead what comes out of his mouth is, “I thought you were avoiding me.”

With the way Q stares at him incredulously, it’s impossible for Bond to feel anything other than hot embarrassment. Q picks at a loose thread on his sweater and asks, “Why would I avoid you?”

It feels a bit too much like an invitation for rejection, so Bond takes a sip from his bottle and shrugs. His tongue feels like iron in his mouth, hot and heavy and out of his control, so he does his best to avoid letting anything else slip. He bites down on it harder than he means to, sending a wince and a tint of copper. He takes another sip to stop from biting his tongue again.

Q seems to realize that Bond’s not going to elaborate, sighing quietly and leaning back on his hands. His profile is striking in the night sky, and it’s only then that Bond realizes he’s been staring. He forces his eyes to his own hands and tries to swallow the metal in his mouth.

“I thought about it.” Q murmurs. His voice is so quiet even with the dead of night around them, but Bond has recentered his focus around him enough so that it hardly matters. “Avoiding you, I mean, since I was pretty mortified the day after we met.”

“Mortified?” Bond echoes. “Over what?”

“I fell into your arms like a drunk damsel in distress and then made you hold me while I swore at my friend’s ex-boyfriend.” Q says drily. “There was plenty to be mortified over.” Bond shrugs.

“If it’s any consolation, it was the highlight of my night. I almost wish I got to see you fight.” They both ease up a bit, relaxing and leaning back to watch the sky. It’s easier to talk when they don’t have to worry about being seen, regardless of how much Bond wants to turn and watch every expression flickering across Q’s face. “Friend’s ex-boyfriend, huh?”

“A gaslighting, two-faced bastard.” Q clarifies. “He’s transferring to another university soon, so I don’t imagine I’ll need to worry about bumping into him again.”

 _And here I was hoping for another opportunity to hold you_ , Bond thinks, but he’s able to stop himself from voicing the concerning idea. _That’s fucking weird_ , he tells himself, and then abruptly realizes that Q is still talking.

He tunes in just to hear Q saying, “I really should head back to my flat though. Thanks for the company, I hope I didn’t keep you up.”

“Not at all.” Bond holds up his now empty bottle with a smile. “I ought to head in too, but--” he hesitates. He considers candor to be one of the most admirable possible traits in a person, but it’s difficult to say if Q would agree. It’s also difficult to say anything at all when Q is looking at him with bright, expectant eyes. “We should chat more some other time.” He says before he can stop himself. He must be some sort of masochist with the way he keeps offering himself up for Q to slap away.

At first, all he gets is little more than a hum of acknowledgement and a nudge on the shoulder. Then Q laughs and leans a little closer and Bond nearly melts on the spot.

“Until next time, then.” It’s closer to an agreement than Bond expects, and he worries briefly that perhaps Q feels obligated to accept. Then he remembers that Q walked nearly a mile off campus in the cold night just to say hi, and he lets himself believe that Q means it.

“Can I walk you back?” Bond asks as Q gets to his feet. “It’s rather late.”

“I’ll be alright, thanks.”

Q brushes off his slacks as Bond watches, captivated as always. It’s hard to look away whenever Q is there, ready and available for Bond to stare at.

“So long.” Bond’s voice comes out gentler than he means it to, but all it does is soften the edges of both their smiles as they nod at each other.

Bond heads back inside before he can see Q’s figure disappear at the end of the street. If he has no idea when they’ll see each other again, he’d rather have the lingering memory be of Q smiling down at him instead of his retreating back.

-

In a stroke of luck, Bond steps into the on-campus coffee shop a week later and spots Q in a tiny corner spot.

He’s just there to grab a to-go cup before a lecture, but Q is wearing the most lovely blue button up and Bond has always been an admirer of beautiful things.

He makes his way over before he can lose his nerve, stopping only when Q continues to tap away at his computer without looking up. Bond is tempted to stand and wait until Q finally notices him, but the staff are already shooting him odd looks.

Bond ignores them and leans over Q’s shoulder, peering at his screen. It’s a wall of code that changes rapidly with every keystroke, and Bond barely has enough time to grasp this and be suitably impressed before Q jerks away and slams his laptop shut.

“Oh, fucking hell.” Q huffs when he realizes it’s Bond, but he’s smiling the entire time. “Don’t sneak up on me and then just stand there, you creep. Sit down.”

Bond happily slides into the seat across from Q and quickly decides that his next lecture couldn’t be any more important than this.

They don’t speak much, and Bond gets up to order a drink without having said more than a few words to Q. It’s almost scarily comfortable to stay quiet around Q, leaning into the coffee shop's cheap wooden chairs and enjoying the blanket of silence that they cover themselves with.

The rest of the shop is full of ambient noise and pleasant chatter, soothing in its rhythm. The two of them work at the table, Q tapping away at his laptop and Bond reading an article on his phone. It’s rather nice to just sit in each other’s company.

Someone stops by to greet Bond and make small-talk about exams. Bond vaguely recognizes them as a classmate from his comparative literature class, and although he doesn’t want to be rude, his attention is barely there throughout the conversation. He can’t stop staring at the fluttering of Q’s fingers above his keyboard, entranced by the movement, while he hums along and laughs at all the right moments. It’s only when the classmate squeezes Bond’s shoulder, kindly tells him, “Well, good luck with the paper, Bond,” that he’s able to yank his gaze towards them and smile back.

As soon as they’re gone, Bond lets his attention drift. It’s hardly a surprise when they settle on Q’s hands once more, except this time Q stills. Bond looks up to see Q’s expression turn from confused to contemplative.

“Say, why do you go by your last name? It’s awfully militant.”

“People had to differentiate between me and the other James’s back in primary school, and it stuck. If you’d like, you can call me James.” Bond blinks, and then, “How’d you know Bond is my last name?”

Q looks a bit embarrassed, scratching at the back of his neck and ducking his head.

“Oh, just, you know.” He murmurs vaguely. Bond raises an unimpressed brow and Q buckles almost immediately. It’s sort of heartwarming that he gives in so quickly, and Bond can’t help but briefly, stupidly hope that Q’s only like this with him. “Alright, well, I may have had a brief peek through your file in the school’s student database. Nothing horribly invasive, of course, and I was only checking to see when your birthday was.”

“You could’ve just asked. I would’ve told you.” Bond says automatically, his brain too busy trying to understand the implications of what Q said. He’s not uncomfortable at the thought of it, but the unneeded secrecy does put Bond on edge. It’s just a bit-- odd. Confusing. “I didn’t realize that they gave any students access to those files.”

Q’s expression somehow turns simultaneously more embarrassed and proud all at once. He searches Bond’s face for one, two moments before crossing his arms over his chest. It’s clearly defensive, but maybe it’s just to balance the openness in his voice when he says, “I’m good with computers and our university security is shit, so I hacked the server and did some quick digging.”

“You hacked the university?” Bond is hit with a sudden, terrifying wave of enamorment that makes his heart flip thrice in its cage. He’s not sure if the whole secret hacker style is actually that attractive to him or if he only feels this way because it’s Q, but it doesn’t really matter why. He’s well aware of his crush on Q at this point, so what’s a little extra icing on the cake? “That’s just--” Bond cuts off, face dropping into his hands. He needs to shut up before he does something stupid like try to propose to Q with the crumpled receipt in his pocket.

“I promise I didn’t pry much.” Q says quietly. He reaches a hand out before quickly jerking it away. When Bond looks at him through his fingers, Q looks almost regretful. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I apologize. I’m not very good at getting to know people.”

“You’re bloody fucking brilliant.” Bond’s mouth moves before his brain can catch up, but he can’t even be upset when a pleased, surprised little smile pops onto Q’s face. “How smart are you? Fuck. What else can you do?”

It’s a simple question and yet it’s enough to set Q off into a rambling explanation that ends up lasting nearly two hours. It’s well into the evening when Q runs out of things to add and Bond runs out of questions to ask, so Bond glances at the setting sun outside and thinks, _well, why the fuck not try one more time?_

“Hey,” he nudges Q’s foot under the table in a gesture that he hopes comes across as charming and only moderately flirtatious, “do you want to grab dinner? I know a nice place just the next block over.”

To his credit, Q actually looks like he wants to say yes this time. Bond isn’t sure if that means that Q has never wanted to say yes before or if he simply isn’t bothering to hide it now, but regardless, his heart thumps a little harder in his chest up until Q shakes his head.

“I’ve got this stupid lab study I have to work on tonight, sorry.” Q runs a hand through his (stupid, wonderful) hair and sighs. Bond is trying very hard to keep smiling. “I actually should’ve gone an hour ago, but I was putting it off. Maybe some other time.”

And see, although it’s still a rejection, Q has packaged it kindly enough that Bond thinks he means it. Maybe it’s genuinely piss poor timing and not just a convenient escape, but it’s so hard to tell. Bond searches for the words to ask without coming across too pushy or overbearing, all while Q quietly tucks his laptop and notebooks into his satchel. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, when Q beats him to it.

“You could walk me to the labs. They’re across campus and I’d like to chat some more, if you don’t mind.” Despite the forwardness of the request, Q says it sheepishly enough that Bond’s brain fully short-circuits before he can respond.

“Yes,” he says far too quickly, “yes, of course, I’d love to.” He throws out his cup quickly and does an over-the-top _after you_ gesture with his hands that makes Q snort. Bond follows him out of the shop grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

Surprisingly enough, they run out of discussion topics halfway to the lab. Bond keeps his hands stuffed in his pocket so he doesn’t brush Q’s (or, even worse, try to hold his hand). The silence is less companionable than it was in the coffee shop, but Bond still feels more at ease than he could’ve expected.

There’s something on Q’s mind, a thought he tosses around while he opens and closes his mouth, and Bond watches as he presses his lips into a thin line and readjusts his bag.

“I like talking with you.” Q says quietly. His voice is warm around the edges and it bleeds into the admission, softening it while Bond feels it heavy in his chest. He feels so embarrassingly happy at the little statement. Q hesitates by the doorway, clearly trying to figure out how to say whatever he’s thinking, and Bond waits the way he always does. He rather likes waiting for Q, in all honesty, because he can spend that time guessing whatever Q will spring on him next. He hardly ever gets it right, but that’s half the fun. “You can have my number.” Q says quickly. The words come out in a rush, quick enough that it somehow catches both of them off guard. Bond politely pretends not to notice the way Q’s voice cracks in the same way that Q politely continues to speak while Bond trips over himself. “Just in case you’d like to do dinner some other time.”

“That’d be lovely.” Bond tells him truthfully. He hands his phone over with a smile that comes all too easily. Everything seems to come easier when Q’s involved.

Bond waits to text Q until he makes it back to the frat house, sending a quick message wishing him luck for the lab work. He doesn’t get a reply until a few hours later, and even then it’s just a gif of a panda crying into its paws. Bond loves it.

-

Bond’s well-aware that he’s been playing the part of an enamored schoolboy, but it’s impossible to fight. Q will make some offhand comment about how cold it’s gotten or how long the dining hall lines are, and Bond, without fail, will hand over his jacket or bring Q takeout between classes. He doesn’t even think about it, it’s just that his heart takes over his body and automatically moves to offer warmth, food, his heart all on a silver platter for Q’s picking. He’s gotten used to it.

A few of Bond’s frat brothers tease him about it, sometimes, but Bond doesn’t really mind. He’s used to comments worse than theirs, so it’s easy enough to shrug off their obnoxious kissy faces and not-so-sly innuendos and simply allow himself to enjoy being pulled into Q’s orbit.

It’s not until Q stops by to return Bond’s umbrella and his friends’ laughing comments make Q’s neck go hot in embarrassment (or anger - it’s hard to tell which) that Bond remembers that not everyone is used to being talked about so cavalierly.

He takes the umbrella inside and leaves Q waiting hesitantly by the front porch, door still ajar, while Bond tells his friends off through gritted teeth. He has to be careful not to make a scene when Q’s still within earshot, so he settles on a few choice words to stop them from making further comments. They side eye each other and mutter stilted apologies, but Bond barely registers them when he can see Q shifting awkwardly in the distant periphery.

When he gets back to the front porch, Q’s hands are stuffed deep into his cardigan and he’s scuffing his shoes on the bricks. Bond thanks him for dropping by, telling him to be more careful with the weather, and very carefully refuses to ask if Q wants company on the way back to campus.

He’s not quite sure if he should apologise for what the others had said, debating the merits of speaking up on it, while Q pats him once on the arm and turns away without another word.

Q doesn’t mention the teasing anytime afterwards, and Bond doesn’t bring it up.

-

Despite the odds - Bond’s frat brothers, their endless classwork, Q’s vague but genuinely worrying sleep schedule - they see each other at least twice a week, if not more.

It had been incidental at first, with plenty of happenchance meetings around campus, but now Bond will message Q with an invitation for tea or lunch, and Q will turn him down but ask to do something else slightly later in the day.

Whether it’s just by chance or by deliberation, Q has made a habit of turning down all of Bond’s invitations. The only reason Bond doesn’t stop offering is because Q will always make offers of his own as a sort of meet-you-halfway move, and also, Bond is humiliatingly desperate for more time together so he usually just asks without thinking.

So long as it inevitably does lead to more time spent together, Bond doesn’t complain.

-

Over the next month or so, Bond learns more about Q.

He’s got an older sister that he loves but doesn’t really speak to, he tends to get his sleep via cat naps rather than anything properly long, and he laughs at his own (terrible) jokes. There’s been more than one occasion where he had muttered some stupid pun to himself and promptly dissolved into hysterics. Bond makes fun of him for it, mostly to see the amused look Q gives him, but they always end up laughing together.

If they hadn’t met, or if they had met later, Bond could easily see himself responding to Q’s quips with polite smiles or blank stares. As of now though, in this wonderful world that they’ve met in, Q has swept his way into Bond’s walls and taught him how lovely life is when you spend it laughing.

-

Bond knows that Q is brilliant. He knows and admires Q’s hard-earned ease with code and software, but he’s never seen Q arms deep in a project before - especially not one that involves fire and dry ice.

“Take another step back just in case.” Q tells him, voice clipped and professional. Bond holds his arms up in surrender and takes another step away from the machine.

He had, with much insistence and bribery, convinced Q to let him watch Q work in the labs. He couldn’t have expected to find Q with a half-burnt cardigan and rubber gloves that nearly doubled the circumference of his arms. His project, an extra credit assignment for a security mechanical engineering course, is supposed to release a wave of smoke and dry ice to the floor while it sends bursts of fire at chest-level towards anyone in a five-foot radius. As of right now, it certainly does all of that, except the bursts of fire are more like streams of flames that scorch anything within arm’s distance.

Watching Q swear as it continues to set unsuspecting equipment on fire is a lot more amusing than it has any right to be.

To be fair, watching Q do anything is unfairly amusing, but Bond has long since accepted that he’s biased. He knew it months ago when he had held Q against his chest and felt Q’s heartbeat slamming out of his chest, and he knows it now whenever he so much as thinks about Q.

He sits at one of the lab tables and props his chin on his hands, eyes comfortably following Q’s movements around the room. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be, and when Q looks over his shoulder to laugh helplessly at Bond, he thinks that maybe Q agrees.

-

Bond asks if he can come bother Q while he works again, this time under the pretense of having Q fix Bond’s broken watch.

It’s an old thing from one of his foster families growing up, but the sentimentality doesn’t run very far. Bond just wants an excuse to see Q.

“You’re lucky that I’m being kept on campus so late. If I didn’t have so many stupid projects, I would’ve been home by now and you would’ve been left with a broken watch until New Years.”

Bond startles. Somehow, he had seen the semester’s approaching end and assumed that Q would stay around during the break. They’ve spent so much time together as of late that he hadn’t even considered that Q might have other people he’d be going home to for the holidays. His stomach lurches out of jealousy, though not of the people Q would see, but of Q himself.

It had been a long time since he had anyone to go home to, let alone to have a home at all.

“I wish I had a watch like this. You ought to take better care of it, you know. I almost want to ask how you managed to damage it so thoroughly, but we both know you can be alarmingly reckless.” Q says into the silence, voice coming out almost fond. It’s a nice interruption to his thoughts, so Bond grins easily.

“All to give you opportunities to show off.”

He sits back to watch Q work, impressed as always at the ease with which Q tampers with the device, and refuses to think about the fact that Q will be gone soon enough. They’d certainly be able to text over break, but it’s not just that. Sometimes Bond feels like he lives in a completely different world than everyone else, and he hates remembering that Q is included in that _everyone._

Q makes snide comments about his professors and deadlines and doesn’t say anything else about the holidays until he’s handing Bond a perfectly-ticking watch.

“You’re not going anywhere over break?” Q asks, voice careful. Bond had mentioned once that he doesn’t have any legal guardians and never will, especially now that he’s twenty one and almost done with university. He had called himself an orphan then, briefly and with a bit too much whiskey in his stomach, but he hadn’t elaborated and Q hadn’t asked. If not for the concerned furrow in Q’s brows, Bond might’ve thought that Q had forgotten what Bond said entirely.

“Holidays are best spent with the people who know you best.” Bond says simply. He tries to smile but he knows it comes out sad, so he lets it fade quickly. “I might drink myself silly and eat a week’s worth of takeout as a gift to myself.”

Q hums noncommittally but doesn’t respond in any other way. He’s clearly processing it though, and it’s obvious in the way his frown deepens and he looks at Bond in what could easily be either worry or pity.

As Q gathers his things to leave, Bond waits by the door and scrolls through his phone. There’s never anything interesting there, but it gives him something to do instead of just stare at Q all day.

(Bond would never object to that, but he knows sometimes Q finds it overwhelming. Q has never told him as much, but Bond can see the back of his neck go hot and how his fingers twist around themselves when Bond has been watching for too long.)

They head out together, walking slowly down the hallways, and Bond almost forgets about the holiday break altogether.

Then--

“You could come around mine for the holidays.” Q blurts out. It seems like the idea burst out of him, a notion not meant to be shared aloud, because he looks just as surprised to have said it as Bond is to have heard it. “No pressure, obviously, but there’s a spare bedroom at my parent’s home and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind the extra company.”

Bond stuffs his hands in his back pockets and rocks back on his heels, grinning while he watches Q’s blush deepen.

“And what about you?” Even if Q’s already flustered, Bond can hardly resist pressing on. “Would you mind if I was there?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if I did.” Q huffs, but he’s smiling again. He seems pleased that Bond is entertaining the idea. “We can drive down together if you’d like, since I’ve got my car on campus. You don’t have to stay the whole break either, but, you know, you’re more than welcome to.”

Bond wants to turn down the offer, to brush it aside as casually as possible and change the topic. The problem is that he opens his mouth and all he can think about is Q in an ugly sweater, smiling at him from in front of a Christmas tree, and his heart screams _You could finally be home,_ which doesn’t even make any fucking sense, and he says--

“I’d love to.”

Q’s answering laugh sounds a lot more relieved than it should, and Bond wants to cradle the sound by his chest and carry it with him forever.

“We’ll talk about it more later.” Q promises him. “I’ll call my parents and message you about any other details.”

They walk away on opposite ends of a split road. Despite the distance, Bond has never felt closer.

-

Q texts him a couple of days later with an invitation to study and discuss their winter break plans.

Doubt has already crept its way into Bond’s head, but he pushes his reservations aside to text Q an affirmation. He books a study room in the library and reminds himself that being afraid means that he cares. He hasn’t cared about something this much in a long time, so he clings to feeling to get by until he and Q meet up.

-

When the day arrives, Bond gets there half an hour early. He knows he won’t get much work done once Q arrives, between talking about going home together and staring at Q, so he buries his head in one of his textbooks and waits.

“They converted it into an office.” Q exclaims as he bursts into the study room nearly twenty minutes later. His hair is windswept and wild and Bond melts into his chair. He barely manages to pull himself out of a puddle to listen properly to Q.

“Who converted what into an office?”

“My parents converted the spare bedroom. It’s got proper furniture in it and everything, so I’ve no idea where you’ll be able to sleep. Unless, and I don’t mean to presume, would you be alright sleeping in my room? We could certainly fit an air mattress on the floor, and if you’re alright with it, you can take my bed.”

“Oh, absolutely not. It’s your home and your bed, Q. I don’t mind taking the air mattress, or even just sleeping on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Bond. You’re my guest.” Q grumbles petulantly, flopping into the chair across from Bond, and Bond startles at the possessiveness in his voice. He doesn’t flush instantly, but it’s a near thing, and he’s only able to convince Q to sleep on his mattress and let Bond take the air mattress out of willpower and convoluted explanations.

They agree over a few other details - no presents for each other, or at least nothing significant enough to be burdensome, and Q wouldn’t leave Bond alone with his parents. Unless anything came up last minute, Bond would spend the entirety of break with Q and they would drive up to campus together around the New Year the same way they would drive down.

It was a relatively loose plan, just as Bond requested, and vague enough so he can look forward to it without feeling nauseous. The last thing he wanted was to get cold feet and fly to another country with some shitty apology and flimsy excuse.

He packs some of his belongings just to have something to do. He could go weeks without any luggage as he knows from experience, but he’s supposed to be relaxing and spending time with Q. He wants them to be normal together, to be able to do silly normal things instead of making Q ask him concerned questions about, for instance, why he didn’t bother to pack a spare toothbrush or why he keeps a switchblade and fake ID sewn into his trousers.

So he packs his bag and fills it with perfectly normal items and doesn’t put anything that he normally would.

(He keeps the switchblade and ID, though. Better safe than sorry.)

-

The day after Q turns in the last of his projects, just three days before Christmas, Bond meets him at eleven am at the front entrance of Q’s flat building. He helps Q with his luggage since he only has a duffel bag of his own, and they shuffle together towards Q’s car, making small talk about finals and classmates. Bond doesn’t think he’d ever get tired of talking to Q, even if it is only over trivial, inconsequential topics.

Q’s car is a dented old thing with scratches on the sides and lopsided rear view mirrors, but Bond can tell how many memories have been packed into it. It’s parked at an angle, nearly encroaching the space to the left, but Q doesn’t mention it as he chatters on about one of his assignments. Bond finds the whole thing strangely endearing, although he’s not sure how he got so far into this crush that Q’s inability to park correctly became precious.

Q’s parents live a couple of hours away, so Bond argues his way into driving for part of it; Q ought to be well-rested when he sees his parents, after all, and it’d be unfair for Bond to make Q drive him all the way there when he’s already going to be giving him food and a place to stay for the entire break.

He’s insistent enough that Q gives in quickly, but not without complaint.

Bond is only meant to drive for the middle portion of the journey where it’s mostly backroads and sprawling fields, so that Q can take over when they approach the more suburban areas.

The problem is that Q looks exhausted in the passenger seat, head drooped over his chest, and Bond is a brave enough man to admit that he can’t bear the thought of waking him up. It’d be a hassle to switch seats again, anyways, so he turns the radio down and finishes the rest of his coffee, smiling softly to himself while Q dozes on.

It’s barely an hour later that he pulls up to Q’s parent’s home and startles when he sees said parents waiting for them by the front door.

As soon as the car parks, they rush towards the car with excited cheers and waving hands. Bond smiles almost instinctively, chest lit from the inside with a fondness and not-quite envy at the mundane loveliness of it all. Bond shakes Q awake as gently as he’s able, exiting the car and going to get out their luggage while Q hugs his parents.

By the time he unloads everything, Q is tugging his parents over to the trunk.

“This is Bond,” Q tells them, and his voice sounds _fond,_ “please don’t ask him any strange questions.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Bond.” Q’s mother grabs both his hands in hers and grins. It’s infectious enough that Bond barely even remembers how tired he is. “We’re so excited for you to join us.”

It’s inexplicable how loved Bond feels in that moment; he knows that Q’s parents know little about him beyond his name and friendship with Q, but it’s been so long since he’s had a home to go to and a family to welcome him into it.

“A pleasure.” Q’s father shakes Bond’s hand with all the firmness you’d expect from a middle-aged businessman. “Q doesn’t bring boys back much--” Q’s father starts, but he’s quickly cut off with an elbow from his wife and a glare from Q himself.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Q says flatly. His smile has abruptly disappeared under a tight, disapproving line, and Bond wants nothing more than its return.

“Unfortunately for me, we’re just friends.” Bond says, aiming for light but missing by a mile. Q’s frown deepens as he turns to grab some of his luggage.

Q’s parents manage to persuade them to head on in and leave their luggage behind, patting Bond on the back as they leave.

Bond trails behind Q up to his bedroom. True to his word, there’s an air mattress already laid out on the ground next to the mattress. It admittedly looks a bit cramped, but Bond is rather preoccupied with the pinched expression on Q’s face. Q sits on the edge of his mattress, his shoulders a tense, unfamiliar line. The sight of it makes Bond want to reach out and smooth them into something soft and relaxed, but he knows it would only make things worse. He lets himself flop onto the air mattress and sit on his hands.

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” Bond murmurs. Q stays completely, horribly silent for a moment before sighing.

“Just-- don’t worry about it.” His expression is shuttered over, tight and guarded in a way that Bond hasn’t ever quite seen.

Against his better judgment, Bond extends a tentative hand to slowly come up and cover Q’s own. Bond had telegraphed the move as much as he was able, but Q still jolts a bit when their hands make contact. He doesn’t move away though, just flexes his fingers from where they rest on his thigh and breathes in deeply. When he turns to look at Bond, he’s smiling again, even if it is half-forced.

“You’re probably hungry.” Q stands and shifts to tug Bond up by the hand. As soon as they’re both standing, Q lets Bond’s hand drop in a way that feels significant, although Bond has no idea what that significance might be. “I’m sure my mum’s made something for us to snack on. C’mon.”

He’s gone and out the doorway before Bond can respond, standing alone in Q’s room and clutching his hand as if it’ll help him remember what it felt like to be held.

-

When he clears his head enough to make it down to the kitchen, Q is already there with a mouthful of grapes. He’s smiling easily again despite the fact that barely a minute has passed since his earlier upsetness, and Bond drinks in the sight gratefully.

Q is sitting on the counter, legs swinging back and forth, and Bond wants to step between his legs and rest his head against Q’s shoulder. It’s a very domestic idea, enough so that Bond has to grit his teeth for a moment before moving to stand beside Q instead. His arm brushes Q’s leg as he leans against the counter, and it’s enough.

Q’s father asks him all sorts of polite questions, though none of them are about Bond’s family. He assumes Q had warned him against the topic. Bond has spent years answering questions more demanding than anything Q’s parents could’ve come up with and had been prepared to politely deal with anything they might’ve asked, but it’s nice to avoid it entirely.

He talks about his major and his graduation plans and wonders how being happy can feel so simple.

-

Q’s parents go out to eat for dinner, leaving Bond and Q to order in. There aren’t many groceries in the fridge at the moment, but there’s enough for Bond to fix up a few side items to go with the greasy Chinese food that they have delivered.

Q tells him about the not-so-legal modifications he’s made to his car, only a few of which Bond had noticed, and promises to demonstrate them later.

They clean up after themselves and package their leftovers in the fridge, heading back upstairs to get ready and watch a few films before bed.

Bond showers first simply because Q demands it of him.

When he’s done, he sits on the air mattress and stares at the photos taped to the walls. Most of them seem to be from high school, with an endearingly awkward looking Q grinning shyly at the camera. There aren’t many others in the pictures, but those friends are consistent; a cunning girl with tight dark curls and knowing eyes, an unassuming fellow with a kind smile, and a serious looking girl who frowns at the camera. They all keep Q close in the pictures, possessive but not forceful, and it feels a bit too revealing. Bond doesn’t know if these friends were just protective of Q for no reason or if perhaps they were given plenty; he turns away from the pictures and lies down.

His phone died after having used it to navigate during the car ride, so he busies himself by picking at the calluses on his palms while he waits for Q to come back.

When he finally does, Bond doesn’t ask about the pictures or Q’s friends or anything about what life was like in high school. Bond knows his own experiences were less than stellar, even if he did get the hang of the whole charm-people-before-they-try-to-punch-you thing by the end.

Q pulls up some black-and-white French film on his laptop and talks over the characters the entire time. Bond is grateful for it, even if he does still tease Q relentlessly, because Q’s commentary provides a welcome distraction and an even more welcome insight into his thoughts.

The second movie is a German expressionist film that puts Q to sleep. It’s not a bad movie, Q mumbles, but he’s still half asleep in his protests while Bond shuts the laptop and puts it away.

They wish each other good night (Bond’s is significantly more bemused than the disgruntled one he gets back) and fall asleep sated and content.

-

It’s a good thing that they had lounged around so much the previous day, because they spend the entire next day in the garage working on Q’s car.

Q is surprisingly and unsurprisingly adept at maneuvering around the vehicle, spinning a wrench around his fingers while he tinkers with pipes under the hood.

Bond loves cars, a fascination born out of summers spent hotwiring automobiles in Italy, and eagerly offered to lend Q a hand. Being able to spend time together and see Q in an oil-stained wife beater are just bonuses.

He’s pleased when his assistance is met with an impressed look from Q; there aren’t many chances for him to show off on campus, so Bond preens under the attention and flexes a bit when he rearranges the alternator and windshield fluid.

They take a few breaks to eat, only because Q’s parents take turns nagging them every few hours to complain about how they haven’t eaten any proper meals the whole day. Bond throws cubes of cheese at Q when Q tries to show him the laser system - and really, who builds a laser security system for a car that’s older than them? - and delights when Q uses the opportunity to instead pull a hose from a side compartment to spray at Bond.

“It’s hooked up to a pressurized grey water tank in the trunk.” Q tells him cheerily as Bond gets doused in icy water. He doesn’t even realize he’s laughing until he’s successfully tackled Q to the ground, one hand under Q's head to prevent him from slamming it against the concrete.

Bond’s laughter shakes more water off of him and onto Q, and it’s absurdly fun to watch Q squirm and laugh in return, not even trying to push Bond away.

He could kiss Q, he realizes suddenly, he could bend down and kiss him as gently as he’d like, and all it would take is a bend in his neck and a few centimeters of movement.

He doesn’t because he can’t and because he likes Q too much, and he doesn’t want to spend another Christmas alone just because he fucked something up.

He stands up slowly and doesn’t let his smile slip. He helps Q up with one hand and grabs some pliers with the others, already prepared to go back to work, and lets out a sigh of relief when Q follows suit.

They finish up in late evening after Q finally pops the hood back on and puts the last of his tools away. They take turns showering, smiling at each other when they pass in the hallway, but otherwise they keep quiet.

Q has some sort of secret project he’s working on, so he wishes Bond goodnight and heads back to the garage, leaving Bond to stare at a dark ceiling with faintly glowing stars on it. Bond hadn’t really gotten to appreciate them last night, but now he takes the time to follow the slanted constellations around the room. A few trail down towards the wall by the closet, and they’re the last thing that Bond sees before he falls asleep.

-

The air mattress pops that day as a sort of Christmas Eve present.

They had spent the day chopping lumber for the furnace, and Bond had been grateful for another day of manual labor. It was easier to clear his head when his hands were busy, and despite the fact that Q was an ever present distraction by his side, it was simple enough to focus on the work and ignore everything else.

Bond had stepped out of the shower that night with damp hair and an indescribable need to lay down and pass out for nine hours straight.

It’s the only explanation he has for why he doesn’t notice anything at first. There is a slight squeak of air when he lies down, but he’s exhausted and Q is already snoring softly from his bed. Bond is swept up in how nice it is to fall asleep knowing Q is nearby, so he drifts off into easy sleep within the minute.

Bond honestly might’ve slept through the night and only noticed the deflated mattress in the morning, but he has a nightmare.

Most of it is abstract and meaningless, more sensations than actual scenes, but then Bond sees his parents’ faces through a cloud of smoke and he jerks awake instantly, chest heaving as he reorients himself.

He didn’t think he had yelled, but Q’s groggy face peers over the edge of his mattress. He squints at Bond for a moment, long enough that Bond starts to remember himself and get self-conscious over his shaky hands, before Q rolls away.

Out of view, Q’s voice floats over while he whispers, “I think your mattress popped. Come sleep up here.” His voice is rough around the edges, deeper and heavier in the late night. Although Bond has heard Q’s voice like that before, especially after so many late evenings spent together, it never ceases to bring warmth inside his chest.

Bond briefly wonders if maybe Q is only offering because he thinks Bond will sleep better with a body next to him, but his elbows press hard into the floor in a quick reminder that, even if that’s true, Q certainly wasn’t lying about the popped mattress.

Bond slips into Q’s bed quickly, keeping to his side as best he can. He’s still shaking, but he’s caught his breath enough to not worry about gasping for air, so he lets his eyes slide shut without a word.

As soon as he situates himself under the covers, Q reaches a careful hand out and squeezes his own with a warmth that makes Bond nearly tear up. He squeezes back, unspeakably grateful, and forgets to let go.

-

The next morning, Bond wakes up irrationally disappointed that neither he nor Q have ended up curled around each other. Still, he’s glad that the distance between them makes it easier for him to slip out of bed and head to the bathroom, getting ready quietly while Q shuffles around in his sleep.

By the time Bond returns to Q’s room, Q is rubbing sleep out of his eyes and yawning. He glares at Bond - or, at an undetermined spot next to Bond, since Q’s eyesight is shit - and pouts. Fucking _pouts._

“I didn’t know you were capable of waking up this early.” Bond teases, sitting back on the edge of the bed to bump shoulders with Q. Q looks like he’s about to retort, but his gaze catches somewhere near the deflated mattress on the floor and his mouth closes abruptly. When he speaks, it sounds like his voice is caught on something, although Bond has no idea why.

“I’ll get ready, and then we can head down for breakfast. I hope you slept well, Bond.” He shuffles out of bed, reaching haphazardly for his glasses before Bond remembers himself and picks them up from the corner of Q’s dresser. He puts them in Q’s hand, wrapping the other’s fingers around the metal temples of the glasses. They’re just a few breaths apart from each other, and the proximity lets Q stare at him, right at him, even without the glasses on.

“Thank you, Q.” Bond says quietly. The silence feels stifling in a way it never does with Q.

“Of course.” Q pulls his hands away gently and turns to leave. In the doorway, with Bond still watching, he turns around and smiles. “You’re not a bad bedfellow, Bond. Behave today and perhaps I’ll let you share again tonight instead of delegating you to the floor.”

“It’d be a Christmas miracle.”

Q smiles at him - he’s always smiling, but even more so now that he’s home for the holidays, and Bond feels so, so lucky to have it directed towards him - and leaves to get ready.

Bond falls back against the mattress and tries not to scream.

-

They spend most of the day running shopping errands for Q’s mother.

Q takes Bond around town, weaving in and out of old shops to pick up miscellaneous gifts and materials. Neither of them have any idea what half of the purchases are, let alone what Q’s mother needs them for, but that doesn’t deter them from getting everything on the list.

Bond slips away in one of the larger stores, quickly making a purchase of his own before returning with Q none the wiser.

They stop for lunch midway through, and Q takes him to a quaint little family restaurant just a few blocks away from most of the shops.

The lights are terribly dim and there are several odd stains in the carpet, but the food is delicious and the waiter makes Q laugh, so Bond considers it an excellent choice.

Once they finally finish shopping, they head back home with Christmas music blasting from Q’s car radio.

Bond likes referring to Q’s house as home. There’s probably some sort of depressing psychological reason for it, Bond knows, and yet he doesn’t care. 

They help Q’s mother set aside everything they bought into seemingly random piles and then spend the evening bumping each other around in the kitchen.

Bond insisted on cooking and Q had insisted on helping, so they spend the better part of two hours pretending to get mad at each other whenever one of them spills an ingredient.

Bond hadn’t always enjoyed cooking, not when it was an activity born out of necessity, but he has a soft spot for it now. With Q laughing at him from the other end of the counter, he can picture a lifetime of moments just like this and can’t think of anything that could make him happier.

He knows wishing for that is unrealistic, so he flirts relentlessly and laughs easily and hopes that this moment can last him a lifetime on its own.

-

They all eat together, the four of them perched on stools around the counter, telling stories about terrible gifts that they’ve received and the even worse ones that they’ve given.

Bond’s chest feels so light by the end of it that when Q’s mother grabs his hand after dinner and tells him, “We’re so glad you could join us for the holidays,” he feels like he’s soaring.

Part of him wonders what it’s going to be like next year when he’ll likely spend it drunk in a foreign country getting into a bar fight or a similar tussle. He won’t get these genuine smiles handed to him on a silver platter, nor the home to surround them in. He certainly won’t get Q brushing their hands together as they stack plates into the sink, but Bond has found that waiting for the other shoe to drop helps no one.

He stares at the shoe already on the ground, catches Q by the wrist, and puts everything he feels into his smile.

Q smiles back like he understands.

-

Bond wakes up on Christmas morning with a headache.

It’s a dull ache in the back of his head, thrumming softly, and all he wants is to bury himself beneath the blankets and never come out. He lets himself consider the idea briefly, entertaining the thought that maybe Q would keep him company in his blanket fortress, before he rights himself and gets up.

The headache is easily ignorable once he gets used to it, so he tampers it down and moves along.

Q is brushing his teeth when Bond gets to the bathroom, and he steps aside with a smile as Bond washes his face. Bond moves so Q can spit and rinse, utterly pleased at the way they orbit around each other in the confined space. Their arms brush when Bond dries his hands, and he’s suddenly very glad for his headache. It’s grounding, helps remind him that this isn’t too good to be true.

“Merry Christmas, Bond.” Q tells him, smiling at him from beneath long, unruly hair-- and even with the headache, Bond has to pinch himself.

-

The morning passes by in a blur and Bond finds himself clinging to details of the day. He wants to remember every sight and sound and treasure it for every Christmas he’ll spend alone in the future.

 _Even if this only lasts today,_ Bond thinks, _let me think of it fondly._ He’s not sure if he’s asking God or himself.

-

They open presents quickly and efficiently, probably just to avoid Bond feeling any more awkward than necessary. He doesn’t know how to tell them to take their time without sounding overbearing, so he sits back and keeps a smile on his face as they exchange gifts.

Q takes Bond out on a flimsy excuse of showing a few more spots around town, and his parents release them easily.

They spend most of it driving around various neighborhoods and listening to music. They don’t talk, staying deliberately quiet as Q takes them around town.

He looks at Bond sometimes, always out of the corner of his eye and always when he thinks Bond isn’t looking.

Bond wants to grab him by the shoulders and yell, _What? What do you want from me? Don’t you know all you have to do is ask?_

That’d be a terrible idea though, so Bond sits on his hands and stares out the window. It isn’t uncomfortable to spend time like this, but it sets him a bit on edge.

When they finally get back home, Q’s father is tugging on a thick wool coat in the foyer and clearly getting ready to leave.

“Just in time! We’re going to go out for dinner and a show.” Q’s father explains as he wraps his scarf around himself. “Got last minute coupons, and we figured you boys wouldn’t mind having the place to yourselves for the night.” He winks at them, unperturbed by both of their stilted denials.

“Have a lovely evening.” Bond manages. He isn’t bad at sounding unaffected, but he can tell that the red of his ears gives him away when Q’s mother steps by and tweaks it gently.

“Behave yourselves.” She reminds them, smiling brightly as her husband holds out his arm for her to take. “We’ll be back after midnight, so keep everything in one piece until then. Good night, boys. Lock up after us.”

She kisses them both on the cheek before Q’s father whisks her away into the night. The house feels significantly quieter with them gone, the lock of the front door sliding into place with a sound that settles deep in Bond’s bones.

“I need to give you something.” Bond says before he can lose the nerve. He moves towards the stairs but hesitates when Q doesn’t immediately follow.

He’s a romantic despite all efforts not to be, and gift giving has always been quintessential to his idea of love and confessions.

“I got you a little present.” Bond admits. “Come with me?” He takes the stairs two at a time and relaxes when he hears Q doing the same right behind him. In Q’s room, Bond sits on the edge of Q’s mattress and pats the spot to his left. Q sits obediently, patient as Bond grabs a gift bag from out of his duffel bag and presses it into Q’s hands. The gift bag is courtesy of the cashier who rang him up at the store, and inside it is an even nicer little box made of crushed velvet.

Q opens it quickly as if he’s nervous about the box’s contents (which is silly, why would he be nervous?), but he stills immediately when he sees what’s inside.

It’s just a watch, albeit quite expensive and minimalistic looking, but it has the letter Q carved on the back and the colors deliberately match the wire frame of Q’s glasses.

“What the fuck, Bond.” Q holds up the watch, staring intently. When he puts it down, it’s with such delicacy that Bond’s heart lurches in his chest. “You’re so fucking stupid. Shit. Thank you, this is gorgeous.” He hesitates for a moment, hands twitching by his sides, so Bond takes the hint. He opens his arms for a hug to let Q jump into it, smiling into Q’s hair.

“Of course.” He tells him easily. It’s probably bizarre to feel so pleased, but he’s proud of his choice if Q has reacted in such a lovely way. Bond wants to shower him in _endless_ gifts.

“I got you something as well.” Q confesses, pulling back. He looks at the picture frame behind Bond’s shoulder and refuses to look anywhere else. “It’s not much, but-- well. Here.” He reaches behind his dresser and hands over a small, poorly wrapped box that’s covered half in scotch tape and half in wrapping paper. It takes Bond three minutes to unwrap, mostly because he refuses to use scissors or a knife, but when he does, his mouth drops.

“Oh. Q, this is lovely.” He holds the gift in two hands, having set the box down gently to the side. It’s a fountain pen, with the nib visible through a clear cap, although there are several discreet buttons along the barrel that prove it’s anything but ordinary. He quirks an eyebrow at Q, who grins back in a show of teeth and pride.

“If I may.” Q says, taking the pen carefully. His thumb hovers over the first button, which is only barely raised above the barrel. He aims the pen towards the ceiling and holds down the button, sending a little laser out. It’s cute but clearly inoffensive, so Q explains, “It’s a high powered laser. It can function as a mini flashlight since it can reach about thirty meters away, but it can also short out electric outlets or start small fires if you use it for long enough.”

Moving his thumb onto the second button, he slides it upwards just a centimeter or so. Somehow, the subtle movement pushes a thin blade to slide out of the end of the barrel. It glints under the lights, small and almost alarmingly deadly, and Bond feels like he’s just been swept off of his feet.

“The blade’s usefulness should be self explanatory.” Q shrugs, handing the pen back over.

“You’re so damn incredible.” Bond breathes. Speaking any louder feels inappropriate for some reason, and he clutches the pen tightly, almost reverently. “Thank you so much, Q.”

“Merry Christmas, James.” Q says softly. He’s not smiling now, but there’s a shine in his eyes that steals Bond’s breath away. He can’t remember the last time someone called him by his first name; he thought he might hate it, when he had said that Q could call him by that name a few months ago, but all it does is solidify the comfort in his bones. It’s overwhelming, this warmth and breathlessness, and Bond wants to feel it for the rest of his life.

He means to say _Merry Christmas, Q,_ or _I’m truly grateful_ , or something equally genuine but still polite and unrevealing, but instead he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

He can see the moment that Q’s breath catches, the shift in his eyes as he stares back at Bond, searching, the moment when Q exhales softly and nods.

“Please.” Q says gently. His voice sounds raw.

Bond kisses him on both corners of the mouth slowly, carefully, with all the adoration he has. Q laughs, helpless and lovely, and they’re both smiling when they meet for a proper kiss. It’s brief and sweet and snatches the air straight from Bond’s lungs and he wants to experience it every day for the rest of his life.

“We should do this every Christmas.” Q whispers, leaning their foreheads together. His eyes are closed but he’s still smiling, and Bond wonders, _Do what, exactly? Come home together for Christmas? Kiss in your room? Spend hours doing nothing but looking at each other?_

In any case, the answer would be the same. Bond lets his own eyes fall shut and he sighs. He’s still smiling too, but he can’t help it.

“I’d love to.” He says. Q kisses him again and Bond doesn’t worry about anything else.


End file.
